Proudly Codependent
by TiTivillus
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester have the most unhealthy, tangled up, crazy relationship known to man and they wouldn't want it any other way. Brotherly!Feels. Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Readers' Choice/Prompt!Fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Proudly Codependent

 **Summary:** Sam and Dean Winchester have the most unhealthy, tangled-up, crazy relationship known to man and they wouldn't want it any other way. Brotherly!Feels. Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Readers' Choice/Prompt!Fic.

 **Warnings:** Spoilers up to 12x09, bad language, graphic violence, graphic descriptions of torture, blood loss, PTSD, claustrophobia, panic attacks (there'll be more warnings added as we move along).

* * *

The panic started with an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, as if his muscles were trying not to let another breath in; to no longer supply his lungs with oxygen.

Then the breath came back to him, shallow, unsatisfying, unable to move against the invisible weight that pressed down on his chest.

Dean sat on the edge of his metal cot and drank in the oppressing silence of his prison cell, trying to turn his thoughts into static, trying to drown out the endless replay of horrors in his mind.

His fingers were fiddling with the sharp little metal screw he had loosened from his bed frame an eternity ago… his only companion in absolute isolation.

His eyes were screwed shut in an attempt to block out his surroundings and he was rocking back and forth, back and forth, again and again… heart racing violently in his chest.

 _A blood-curdling scream was ripped from Dean's throat when Alistair slashed a deep cut into his exposed thigh muscles with a rusty razor blade._

 _The pain was sharp and blinding in its intensity, shooting through every nerve ending in his body._

" _Lovely singing voice you got there, Dean…" Alistair purred, his breath rancid and hot against Dean's tear- and blood-smeared face. He had a devilish grin on his face, yellow teeth blitzing maliciously from behind curled lips. "It does all kinds of things to me when a boy like yerself sings this prettily…"_

 _Dean's glassy, pain-filled eyes became fixated on the wisps of black smoke that danced closer. His nose and throat became blistered from the toxic air, closely followed by the rest of his exposed skin._

 _It was a fire that didn't consume, it just kept on licking, biting, burning._

 _He wanted nothing more than to black out from the never-ending pain, his mind remained sharp and clear at all times, no relieve to be found, not even for a second,_ _ **never**_ _._

 _Alistair trailed the sharp edge of the razor blade over Dean's stomach and quivering chest, higher and higher until it came to linger over the thin stretch of skin over his bobbing Adam's apple._

" _How about we try that again, huh?" Alistair chuckled darkly. "Be a good boy and sing for me, Dean."_

 _This time, the razor went all the way in, slicing through the muscle and sinew just below Dean's collarbone and Dean's mind short-circuited around a crushing wave of agony._

Breathing hard through his nose, Dean got up from his prison cot and drove both his shaky hands through his hair, clenching fistfuls of the spiky strands and pulling hard enough for it to sting.

The tiny metal screw dropped to the ground, bouncing off the concrete in unpredictable little arches.

Somehow the isolation, coupled with the lack of daylight, the deprivation of human touch and basic conversation, was proving to be a one-way-ticket down memory lane for Dean, bringing back memories he'd long thought forgotten.

Memories of hell.

And he wasn't ready to handle that- hell, he'd spent so many years trying to bottle all that shit from the past up and hide it in a far- far away corner of his mind. Needless to say, he wasn't too keen on opening that particular can of worms up again.

Slamming a fist against the nearby concrete wall, Dean rested his forehead against the cool surface, trying to envision Sam's face in his mind, trying to remember what his brother's voice sounded like- or the way his expression shifted when he was annoyed; the slight downward curve of his lips when he disapproved of something Dean said or did.

Every day, when the memories threatened to overwhelm him and the panic tried to claw its way up Dean's throat once again, the only thing that helped keeping the crazy at bay- the only thing that grounded him and gave him a sense of purpose was the thought- no, the knowledge, that Sammy was here somewhere, stuck in the same hell. Literally.

It wasn't a comforting thought, of course. But it was something to focus on, something to channel all his energy and thoughts into. It wasn't so much the idea of escaping that kept him sane, but the thought of getting Sammy out of here, because if months of isolation had reduced Dean to the tumbling, desperate mess he now was, he could only imagine what being cooped up in this windowless hell was going to do to his little brother.

So when none of Dean's prayers to Cas and even to Chuck, seemed to work, there was only one last refuge – one last potential ally that Dean could think of.

"Billie?" Dean's voice sounded weird to his own ears when he croaked out the name, hoarse and weak and filled with doubt over whether or not the reaper would show up.

But it didn't even take a full second for her to appear, clad in leather and with her curly black hair in a wild tangle around her face. "Ready to say your goodbyes, Dean? I thought the day would never come…"

Dean's lips thinned out in disdain but after so many months of absolutely no interaction of any kind, he couldn't deny the thick relief that pulsed through him at the sound of her voice.

Hell, at this point, he would have probably preferred Crowley's snide remarks or Sam's hairspray-music to the suffocating silence that had nagged at him ever since he got locked up.

"Is Sam alright?" Dean asked before he could even really think about it.

He hadn't seen or heard from his brother since the day they had been brought in and the involuntary distance to his sibling- the lack of contact between them- had damn near killed Dean.

Billie's eyes narrowed and she snorted, one hand propped against her hips. "That what you called me here for? To check up on your darling brother?" she cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him as if she took personal insult in his words.

"Is he alright?" Dean insisted, voice taking on a pleading tone. "Please, Billie, if you know anything—"

"Oh, I do know," she said, clicking her tongue. "But I'm not ready to share and care. Not unless you offer me something in return…"

Dean would have rolled his eyes if he still had any fight left in him, but right now all he could focus on was that Billie was right here and that she was the only one who could get them out of here.

So whatever she wanted, whatever she was asking for – if it was a choice between that and them rotting in these godforsaken cells until the end of days, possibly never getting to see each other or talk to each other again, it wasn't really a choice at all.

At least, not for Dean.

"I want out."

"Out?" she asked, calmly, rolling that one word slowly off her tongue.

Dean took a step forward, his expression filled with cold determination, even as his heart beat rapidly in his chest and his palms grew sweaty. "Out of this cell, out of the goddamn prison. Me and Sam, you think of a way to get us both outta here and I'll—"

"And you'll make another deal with me," Billie finished for him, meeting Dean's dazzled expression with a self-sufficient smile of her own. "I'm gonna get you out of here, but in exchange, I'm going to reap a Winchester come midnight. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars. No second chances this time around. You go and you stay gone. _Forever._ "

Dean didn't really have to think about it.

He had always known he was going to die on the job, guns blazing, taken out by some run-of-the-mill monster they were hunting or some pissed off dick-angel. He didn't mind dying if it meant he was going to see his brother one last time.

He didn't mind dying in exchange for his brother's freedom.

In fact, he was fine with it. At least, that way, they could both spend a couple of hours together before Billie was going to take him out. At least they'd be able to say their goodbyes, make their peace with each other and with the world.

"Alright," he said and then held up a finger in warning. "But you gotta talk to him first. Get him on board with the plan, let him know what we're doing."

Because they had been down that road before and no matter how much Dean wanted to strike that deal with Billie, he also knew that he couldn't do it behind Sam's back.

He couldn't do that to him.

He wouldn't.

Their brotherhood had been strained and damaged too much in the past by some of the decisions he had made without consulting Sam first.

"If it soothes your conscience."

Dean watched her turn around and his heart gave a start in his chest. "Billie?"

"Yeah?" she didn't turn back around to look at him.

Dean swallowed. "Tell him… tell him that I…"

"I'm not your errand boy, Dean," Billie said in a smooth voice. "You're gonna have to tell him yourself."

* * *

Dean came back to life with a surge, sputtering and gasping and greedily sucking in air.

His eyes were roaming the area around him for a sign of hazel eyes or dimples or gangly arms or a brown mop of hair, but he came up empty and that frightened him more than any damn lack of oxygen or coming-back-from-the-dead experience ever could.

"You good?" Sam's familiar voice croaked out from behind Dean and Dean felt such a strong surge of relief- such a massive wave of emotion at the sound of his brother's words that he could have cried.

He closed his eyes against the embarrassing sting of tears, trying to catch his breath and regain his composure.

"Yeah," he said, sniffed and then turned around to stare into the deep and meaningful gaze of the pair of eyes he'd envisioned countless times in his mind in those past months of isolation. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

Sam looked strong and tall and healthy. Kid had shadows beneath his eyes, speaking of restless nights and lack of sleep but he hadn't lost too much weight and it looked like he had been keeping in shape too, working out in his cell to keep himself distracted from the loneliness… the creeping thoughts of loss and grief and hell that probably threatened to drown him.

He tried to give Dean a smile but it was wavering and crumbling before it could blossom on his lips.

"Yeah, just—" he cleared his throat in that uncomfortable little way that meant he was insecure or troubled and Dean wanted nothing more than to get off that damn metal tray and yank Sam against his chest hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

"It's good to see you," Sam finished in a quiet voice and then his gaze shifted away because he was probably thinking about Billie and about the deal they'd made and how their reunion would be short-lived.

Dean opened his mouth but that was when they heard footsteps and both of them tensed in apprehension. They couldn't afford to get distracted now or their deal with Billie would have been for nothing.

Dean slid off the metal cot and Sam followed suit, hunter instinct taking over.

Time to get the hell out of here.

* * *

"Dean we need to talk about this—"

So far, Dean thought that they'd done a pretty good job at avoiding the topic. Why spoil the mood when they were out in the woods in prison jumpsuits and having the time of their lives?

"I know," Dean said, making sure to be two or three steps ahead of Sam, just in case of any snipers hiding in the woods in front of them. The chance of them hitting Sam with Dean blocking their vision was relatively low and right now, that was all Dean wanted to think about- all he wanted to focus on.

Getting Sam out of this godforsaken place in one piece so he could have a few more years on the road, kick some ass with Cas and their mom; saving people, hunting things, the family business.

That was what Dean wanted.

He'd said it before and he was going to say it again if necessary: Sam getting old and married and having two-point-five kids and a dog and a house -that was his version of a happy ending. And it was the only one life held in store for him.

"Dean—"

"Not now, Sammy," Dean said the nickname with a pleading edge to it, knowing that Sam wouldn't see things his way, that he would offer himself up instead and come up with arguments for why Dean should be the one to live.

' _I was ready to die, Dean. I've been ready to die for years and I'm ready now. It's okay, I'm fine with it. Just, for once… let me do this?'_

Dean's jaw tightened at the mere idea.

He had changed a lot over the past twelve years since he and Sam had been doing this.

They had both changed a lot, both in good and not-so-good ways.

But the one thing that Dean had never learned to accept, the one thing he was never going to accept- no matter what- was for Sam to leave this world before him.

He didn't have it in him to watch Sam die and continue living like he wasn't broken inside.

"Dean, we can't just pretend—"

"Shh," Dean held Sam back with an arm against his chest in a protective soccer-mom move. He motioned to the right, having noticed some faraway movement, secretively thankful for the distraction.

They had five more hours until midnight and Dean was going to spend them doing what he did best, protecting his brother and using every goddamn skill his dad had ever taught him to kick some highly-trained FBI ass.

"They're coming."

* * *

"So, who's it going to be?" Billie asked and Dean's heart dropped.

Not because his time to finally kick the bucket had arrived, not because he was about to dissolve into nothingness or whatever else 'the empty' had in store for him, but because one way or another, it was going to break his brother's heart.

Sam looked so heartbroken out there, in the darkness of the woods – so lost under the expectant stare of Billie's eyes.

And Dean kind of wished they would have had time for one more decent talk.

One more hour spent sitting in companionable silence.

Or driving down the road together in the Impala, ACDC blaring from the radio.

He wished they could have gotten one more hug after months of that goddamn shithole keeping them apart, just to reassure himself that Sam was whole and safe and right _there_.

But even if they didn't get to do any of that, Dean was still okay with the deal they made and what it would mean because making sure his little brother was okay ranked higher on Dean's priority life than saving his own hide.

Dean's eyes flickered over at Sam's full of sorrow, his mouth already shaping the first attempts of a goodbye when his mom suddenly spoke up. "Me. Take me."

It was late at night and Dean couldn't sleep.

Which was strange, considering that he'd been sleeping on a goddamn metal rack for the better part of the past months, waking up with a stiff neck and mind-numbing back-pains every goddamn morning.

Rationally speaking, the mere thought of his memory foam mattress should have been inviting enough to have him curled up in bed and happily snoring, but for some reason, his mind just wouldn't stop conjuring up images of that daunting cell and… Alistair.

He passed Mary's room on his way to the kitchen and stopped for a second to peek inside the crack of the open door and see his mother's sleeping form beneath the blankets.

The sound of her even breathing was comforting and Dean allowed himself to creepily stand in the doorway and stare, just soaking in the fact that –for once- their mom had taken them up on their offer to spend the night at the bunker.

Eventually, Dean made it to the kitchen, not really sure why he'd come here until he noticed Sam's tall form hunched over a steaming cup of coffee on their breakfast table.

Dean blinked, surprised to see his brother still awake at three in the morning, but decided not to dwell on it. If the images of hell still haunted Dean, there was a fair chance of Sammy being tormented by similar thoughts, including his years in the cage and his possession by Lucifer…

"There any coffee left?"

"I can make you some," Sam offered softly, giving Dean a weak little smile.

Dean sat down on the bench opposite from him, purposefully bumping their knees together beneath the table. "Nah, it's fine. Not really in the mood for it anyway."

Sam let out a soft grunt of acknowledgment and then they both fell silent again, both lost in their own world of thoughts.

"Do you think she would have done it?" Sam eventually asked, peeking up at Dean from behind a fringe of unruly hair. His curls had grown out in the months of their separation and Dean made a mental note of giving his younger brother a haircut sometime in the near future.

"I don't know," Dean honestly answered.

He didn't need to ask what Sam was talking about.

"Would you've… what would we have done if—"

She sacrificed herself to save them?

If Cas hadn't stepped in to save the day?

Dean shook his head and lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. "I prefer not to think about it. Just glad we got out in one piece, for once."

"Yeah…" Sam put his empty coffee cup back down with a soft frown marring his forehead. "Think I'm gonna try and catch some shuteye after all."

"You do that," Dean nodded his head in approval. He would have, for once, enjoyed to talk some more, but he knew Sam needed his sleep and he wasn't about to keep him up for longer than necessary. "Get some rest, Sammy."

Sam pressed his lips together and got up, lanky frame unfolding as he took two steps at a time, ready to leave the kitchen. Then he stopped in the doorway and turned around, sending a last, intense look at Dean over his shoulder. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

Sam's voice was small and grateful when he spoke, his expression filled with the kind of big-brother worship that had gotten Dean through his childhood and most of his adult life.

Dean felt his heart clench tight in his chest, emotion clogging his airways.

He had spent hours, weeks, months, thinking of his brother, hoping that Sam was alright; that he ate enough and slept enough and that he was going to make it out of that place alive, whole and safe.

He had tried to recall what his brother's laughter sounded like because that was the first thing he'd forgotten after mom, dad, and Bobby…

And now Sam was right here in front of him, smiling softly in the dim kitchen light and before Dean knew what he was doing he had gotten up from his seat and crossed the kitchen, before pulling Sam in for a brief but heartfelt hug.

There was no need for words, no need to return the sentiment because it was all right there, in that one gesture. Months' worth of separation, of sensory deprivation and loneliness had come to an end and if that didn't call for a chick-flick moment between them, Dean didn't know what else did.

He felt Sam's long arm winding themselves around his back and squeezed his little brother tighter, eyes squeezed shut as he drank in the smell and feel and sound that was Sam's presence, reminding himself of what Cas had said earlier in the woods… about them fighting the good fight, about how the world needed them. Them- _plural._

Because they came in a package deal.

And Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

"Goodnight bitch," Dean snorted softly, trying to mask his own emotionality as he slowly withdrew from the embrace, clapping Sam's neck in the brotherly code for 'let's stop this from going any further before we grow ovaries'.

Sam's grin wavered for a second, eyes flashing with memories.

"Night, jerk," he returned softly, rolling his eyes to lessen the emotional punch these words still packed for both of them.

Dean watched him leave with a softened expression on his face.

Then he dug his car keys from his pockets and thumbed them lightly, tracing the cool metal with his fingers like he didn't have the smooth dents and edges of the metal memorized.

He needed to clear his head, take back control of his life and what better way was there to do that than to go for a little midnight trip in the Impala?

Maybe tomorrow he would talk to Sam about his dreams his memories.

But tonight he was going to take his baby out for a midnight spin and drive like a madman until every last thought was gone from his mind.

Home sweet home.

* * *

 _So yet AGAIN we have witnessed a significant reunion between the brothers in season 12 without any meaningful brotherly interaction and I'm done. Not permanently, but I have decided to quit watching the show for a while - at least until these writers remember that this show is about Sam and Dean's brotherhood and nothing else. In the meanwhile, I have decided to write this prompt fic, where I will fill a new prompt in each chapter. Here are the rules:_

 _*) Any missing tag or coda to any episode_

 _*) Can be Pre-Series or even Post-Series_

 _*) Focus must be on the brotherly bond so please no prompts with a heavy focus on any characters other than Sam and Dean unless that character had played a major role in shaping the brother's relationship (fe. John)_

 _*) I don't mind writing Outside POVs or AUs as long as the focus remains on the brothers_

 _That's basically it. Please send me your prompts in the comments or per PM. And don't forget to let me know what you thought about the first chapter! Thank you so much for all your support! I'm looking forward to hearing from you!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Proudly Codependent**  
 **Chapter 2**

 _~for SuperVikinggirl~_

In the end, it was Magda, who caused things to come to a head between them.

Dean had never fully trusted the Brits in the first place, but he had made a serious effort in trying to work with them, if not for their mom's sake, then for Sam's.

He had ignored the way his gut had clenched with dismay every goddamn time they had met up with Ketch and Mick or whatever their names were, had swallowed down the snarky remarks that were on the tip of his tongue every time they sat down to discuss a new hunt.

He had fought down the anger that welled up in his chest every goddamn time he got reminded of what these bastards had done to his brother; had tried and failed to ignore that they had taken a blowtorch to Sam's foot and damn near killed him in the process.

He had done it, not because he trusted the Brits, but because he trusted Sam's judgment.

But secretly, maybe even subconsciously, Dean had waited for the other shoe to drop.

So when he sauntered down the stairs of the bunker with take-out and beer, only to get greeted by his brothers loud, clearly-distressed voice as he yelled at their mom and what appeared to be- Mick, from the British Men of Letters, he wasn't all too surprised.

Their different opinions and takes on hunting had often led to arguments, before.

And in all honesty, Dean had realized pretty early on into joining forces with them, that these arrogant jocks would get them into more trouble than they were worth.

Still, it was the way Sam's voice boomed through the bunker that caused Dean's heart to kick up in his chest and that sent the alarm bells in his mind ringing.

Out of the two of them, Dean was definitely the more impulsive, short-tempered one.

He was the one to throw the first punch.

The first one to start yelling.

For Sammy to get this loud- to get this fucking angry- was very out of character and it meant that something must have gone real bad real quick in the hour it took him to get dinner.

"She was a danger to all of us!"

"No, she wasn't!" Sam beckoned, the tendons of his neck standing out beneath his skin and it wasn't until Dean had descended the stairs and taken a good long look at his brother, that he realized the full seriousness of the situation. "She wasn't going to use her powers to harm anyone!"

Sam was livid.

His entire body was coiled tight, his chest was rising far too quickly and his nostrils were flaring with how fast he was breathing.

Dean couldn't remember the last time he had seen Sam like this, but he didn't like it, his protective instinct flaring at the thought that these strangers had come into their home and done something- said something- to evoke that kind of emotion from his little brother.

"Am I interrupting something?" Dean dropped the six-pack of beer on the mapping table with a little more force than necessary, drawing the attention away from his brother and onto himself. He dropped the bags too and took in the unsettled look on their mom's face.

Her features were laced with warring emotions, above all fear and confusion.

Instinctively, Dean took up a stance next to his brother, picking Sam's side before he even knew what this whole thing was about.

"Anyone care to tell me what the hell's going on?"

"We were going through some of the old cases we've disclosed in the past months and—" Mick tried to explain, but Sam didn't let him get much farther.

"They killed her," Sam spat out angrily, voice so loaded with accusation and rage that it threw Dean a little.

He blinked, his gaze flicking from Mick to their mom and back to Sam.

"Who?" he asked, half-afraid of the answer.

Did he trust those Brits? Hell, no. But he found it hard to think they might have actually killed someone Sam cared about enough to elicit that kind of reaction from him.

"Magda," Sam supplied and some of the fight visibly drained from him at the admission, instantly getting replaced by a deep, deep sort of hurt- of betrayal.

It only took Dean a second or two to link the name to the hunt in his mind.

To remember the fanatically religious mom who'd locked up her own daughter in the basement, feeding her scraps of food and making her whip her own back to shreds because she thought Magda to be a devil's spawn.

 _Oh._

Dean chanced a look at his brother, finally able to locate the source of Sam's anger, of his hurt and feeling his own anger rise again.

"It had to be done and if you were half the hunter you claim to be, you would have had the guts to finish the job yourself!" Mick accused with a sneer of rage, but Dean barely noticed it as he focused his attention on their mother.

"She was a freaking teenager," he said, slowly, carefully, because even if they hadn't experienced the same things that he and Sam and had lived through, he at least hoped that they could sympathize with the fact that she'd been a kid, goddamnit.

"She wasn't human!" Mary reasoned and she couldn't have known the damage those words would cause- that it was quite possibly the worst thing anyone could ever say to Sam in order to hurt him.

But Dean knew.

And the words sent him back on his heels too, bringing back memories so painful and overwhelming that it made his heart stutter in the chest from the force of it.

"Yes, she was," Sam croaked out, shaking noticeably beside Dean, now, from how hard he was trying to hold his emotions back. "You think she wanted to have those powers? You think she had a fucking choice on whether to have them or not? Her own family locked her up and treated her like she was some sort of monster—"

"But that's what she _was_ , Sam," Mary insisted in a sharp tone and Dean sucked in a breath at the words, knowing the effect they would have on Sam. "She didn't have herself under control. She was a danger to herself and to the people around her and she needed to be taken out."

Sam took a small step back as if the words had landed a physical blow to his guts.

He ran a shaking hand over his mouth, glassy gaze flickering to the side in an effort to hide the pain in his eyes. "I'm gonna… I need to…" he muttered dejectedly and then turned around, storming out of the mapping room and down the hallway to his room.

They all flinched at the sound of a door getting slammed shut with enough strength to rattle the walls and then the outburst was followed by tension-filled silence.

Dean wanted nothing more than to go after him and do some damage control.

But he needed to get some stuff off his chest, first.

"Your brother's reaction to this is nothing short of ridiculou—"

"I'd watch my fucking mouth if I was you," Dean shut him up in a low voice, eyes narrowed to dangerous little slits at the indirect insult. This guy hadn't been around them much, but even a douchebag like him should know better than to talk shit about one of them in front of the other.

"Dean, I don't understand," Mary looked torn between stalking down the hallway to talk to Sam and running off again because this was probably more drama than she wanted to deal with and Dean hated her a little for that; for dismissing the seriousness of the situation so entirely.

And all of it, because she didn't know shit about either one of them or their past.

Because she couldn't be bothered to even ask.

Dean fixated Mick with a glare that made him visibly uncomfortable until he seemed to get the message.

"I take it this is an issue that should be resolved within your family," he said and then shot a last, somewhat hesitant look into Mary's direction.

"She'll stay," Dean said just as Mary was about to open her mouth for an answer.

She gave Dean a disapproving look at being spoken for but didn't protest and Dean preferred to think the lack of protest meant that she would have stayed either way.

Mick left and Mary sighed, visibly unnerved and unhappy with the events of the evening.

Dean kept staring at her for long enough to make her squirm before he grabbed a beer from the six-pack and opened it with his keys, handing one to Mary before opening another one for himself.

"Dean, would you just tell me what the hell this is about?" Mary huffed out impatiently and Dean took a sip from his beer before plopping down heavily into one of the chairs surrounding the mapping table. "I hate to side with them here, but Mick's got a point. From what I take this girl wasn't human. She had powers—"

"Sam used to have powers," Dean said, the words leaving a dull taste on his tongue.

He washed it down with another swig of beer, closing his eyes and rubbing a weary hand over them.

"W-what?" Mary asked and there was a catch in her voice.

He wasn't in the mood to go into any depth here, but he would tell her what she needed to know.

"That demon that killed you didn't have it out for you," Dean explained with a solemn look on his face. "He came for Sammy. He wanted to turn Sam into one of his children. Fed him his blood."

Mary stared at Dean in shocked silence and then sank down into a chair as if her legs could no longer hold her upright. "He fed him his…"

"Blood," Dean repeated, sitting the beer bottle down in front of them and toying with the etiquette. "Turns out Yellow-Eyes was looking for someone to lead his demon army. Sam was only one of so many others, who got corrupted by him. It's a long story, but point is- Sammy had powers like Magda, too."

"I didn't know…" Mary said in a raw whisper, looking longingly down the hallway to where Sam had slammed the door closed. "Dean, I had no idea."

"Sam's a good kid. He's about as good as they come, mom."

"Dean, I know that."

"No, you don't," Dean said, shaking his head a little. "You hardly know anything about him. Look, you- you send me texts and play silly games with me on the phone and I love that shit, really, I do… but Sam's been so damn excited to get to know you and you just…"

Dean didn't even know what he was trying to say here.

He knew that their mom was having a hard time, trying to deal with everything that was happening around her.

Traveling in time and coming back from the dead was gonna do that to you…

But Mary hadn't even made a conscious effort to get to know Sam and Dean wouldn't be the big brother he prided himself in being if he hadn't noticed the dejected looks on Sam's face every time Dean grinned at his phone after Mary had kicked his ass in Scrabble.

Sam had spent his entire childhood wishing for a parent who'd be proud of his accomplishments and pay him the attention he'd never really gotten from their dad. Someone who'd openly show affection and who'd encourage him in his academic endeavor's and sit in the first row at his school plays.

He had always wished for a mother and now that he finally had one, he was forced to watch her bond with Dean over their love for classic cars and rock music and greasy food, while Sam himself- was once again left to play the third wheel.

Rationally, Dean knew that this wasn't really the case; that mom loved them both equally, but Sam didn't see it that way.

And to hear Mary say that Magda wasn't human, that she had deserved to die, must have only solidified his belief that their mother didn't really care about him.

That she too, would have rather seen him dead than to turn into the demon-blood addict he'd been, all those years ago. Just like their father had.

If you can't save him… you're gonna have to kill him, son.

Dean shook his head with a huff of air at the memory… It was crazy how some things never completely left you, even years after they happened.

He was sure he was going to remember their dad's last words until his dying day.

"Sam never used his powers to hurt anyone," Dean said slowly. "On the contrary, he tried to _save_ people with them."

Mary was about to interrupt him but Dean held up a hand to stop her, his gaze fiery as it met hers in a clash of wild colors. "That's how _good_ he is and you are standing there, siding with the guys who tortured him!"

"Dean," Mary pleaded, her voice breaking a little. "I didn't know."

"Then why didn't you ask?" Dean's voice rose in volume, firing across the table like shrapnel. "You've had every goddamn chance to ask him stuff… about his past, about him."

She didn't know about Stanford or Jessica or Sam's powers because she had never tried to even talk to him about any of it and that was something Dean would never be able to forgive.

"That girl, she was just a few years younger than Sam when the full effects of the demon blood hit him, mom. So what these bastards did to Magda, they might as well have done to Sam."

And there lay the real problem.

Sam and Dean had experienced enough, to know that hunting wasn't all black-and-white.

There were many shades of gray in what they did; many exceptions and Magda had been one of those rare exceptions where they let someone off the hook because it was the right thing to do- even when all the signs were pointing in a different direction.

But they had come to realize that not all monsters needed killing and that sometimes it was the humans you needed to be careful with.

Mary got up from her seat. "I should go and talk to him—"

"I'd give him some time if I were you," Dean advised gently, nursing his beer.

Sam rarely got angry like this, but when he did, he needed his space – needed to go for a jog or to blow off some steam in the shooting range, before he was able to sit down and talk about it.

"But—"

"Trust me," Dean said with a sharp look because even if she disregarded his advice, there was no way Dean would let her get close to Sam after what she'd said earlier.

He sighed and lifted himself up from his seat before rummaging around in the library and returning with a small stack of trashy-looking books.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Dean sighed and dropped the books off on the table before his mom.

She stared down at the cover page that spelled the words " _SUPERNATURAL – by Carver Edlund_ " in a graffiti-like font.

"You wanna know more about his visions?"

"He was having visions?" Mary asked, paling a little at the news.

Dean selected three or four books from the collection and checked their index to see if he'd chosen the right ones before he shoved them unceremoniously at Mary's chest. "These should catch you up on our lives. Don't call again before you've read them."

Dean drained the rest of his beer and then left down the same hallway Sam had taken earlier, leaving Mary to her own devices as he hunted down Sam's door, forgoing his own room in the process.

He heard the bunker's door close and winced a little at the loud screeching noise before he knocked on Sam's door, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Sammy?"

Sam didn't answer and Dean sighed before turning the knob and stepping inside.

The lights were shut off, but even in the darkness, Dean could make out Sam's large form beneath the covers, could hear- from the way he was trying too hard to breathe evenly- that he wasn't asleep.

Dean flipped the light switch and went to sit down on the edge of Sam's mattress.

"Leave," Sam croaked out, his voice barely loud enough to give away the slight tremor in his tone.

Dean's heart clenched at the word, but he didn't make a move to get up.

"She didn't mean it, Sam," Dean reassured quietly. "She would have thought differently if she'd actually seen Magda, or gotten to talk to her."

Sam was quiet and Dean let out a slow breath, for once unsure on what to say to make things better.

"They killed her," Sam said in a low whisper and Dean locked his jaw, closing his eyes as he rested his head against Sam's headboard and swallowed past his own rage. "I know, Sammy."

"We've worked with them and they just…"

"Hey," Dean reached out to blindly reach for Sam's shoulder- his neck, anything to squeeze for reassurance. "You didn't know, Sam. You couldn't have known what they did."

"I told her that nothing bad was going to happen to her and they offed her on the same fucking day."

Sam's voice cracked on the last word and Dean swallowed before thinking 'fuck it,' to himself and wrestling with Sam's covers until he was able to slide his legs beneath.

Sam scooted over automatically- a move perfected during their childhood when they used to share beds at every goddamn motel they stayed at. Another glorious part of their childhood and John Winchester's grade-A-parenting that Mary couldn't be bothered to hear about.

"What are you—" Sam protested weakly when Dean's arms wormed their way around his body.

"Shut up," Dean said with no real heat in his words and then waited for Sam to go lax against him.

Sam resisted for just a moment longer, stiff and squirming uncomfortably against Dean before he gave up and allowed the cuddling to happen.

He was still then, almost deathly so and with the first shuddery breath he allowed himself to take in again, the emotions finally overcame him.

Dean tightened his arms around Sam.

"Screw them," Dean whispered fiercely into Sam's neck as he felt his little brother tremble and shake with the sobs he didn't want to let out, a hurt, so old and deep-rooted that Sam had nearly forgotten it, having once more gotten a hold of him. "Screw them and their fucking opinions, Sammy."

And yeah, with 'them' he meant all of them, family or not.

Nobody got to hurt his little brother like that.

"They don't know shit about you."

But I do.

"You're not a monster."

You've never been.

Not even at your worst.

"Not to me, man. You know that, right?"

Sam just clung to him a little tighter and Dean closed his eyes, taking that for the answer it was.

 **The END.**

* * *

 _Hope you guys enjoyed this little piece! There's no real strategy behind the way I pick prompts. I'll just go with the ones I feel like writing at the time. Hope that's cool with everyone. You can continue to send me new ones, too! I'll try to keep the updates coming more regularly ;) Reviews make my day!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Proudly Codependent  
** **Chapter 3**

 _~for Scarlett7~_

 _Summary: "I would love to have seen the boys driving home in a nasty rainstorm and cozying up in the bunker after the events in Red Meat."_

* * *

The pitter patter of raindrops hitting the Impala's windshield was tantalizing.

It was like music to Sam's ears, always calling to him in ways he couldn't explain.

When the rhythmic pattern of drops tumbled from low-slung clouds, the melody never failed to bring him serenity, no matter how chaotic or downright terrible their lives sometimes were.

There was something cleansing- purifying in the rain that made Sam forget about their latest hunt and the new evil already lurking at the end of whatever highway they were currently on.

Dean must have realized how much Sam relaxed under the soothing lull of the heavy downpour because he usually turned off his music when the first drizzle hit the Impala's sleek roof.

In between pain killers and the exhaustion that came with getting shot in the guts and strangled by a hipster-turned-werewolf, Sam wasn't sure he enjoyed the rain as much as he usually did.

Instead, he felt a little drowsy as he watched the rain fall from darkened skies like God's own version of poetry; the wind sending the frigid drops hurling in every direction but straight down.

The road ahead of them was coated in silver puddles, the Impala's tires splashing right through them as Dean floored the gas pedal.

Sam's eyes were heavy-lidded, his breathing even but slow.

Dean gave him passing glances every other minute or so; his protective instincts on overdrive ever since they had left the clinic.

There was something in Dean's posture- something in his eyes- that spoke volumes about what had gone down in that cabin before Sam had regained consciousness.

Twelve years of spending practically every second together would make you notice the slight tension in Dean's jawline or the frantic way he kept glancing at Sam's chest to see if the stitches held (or to watch the even rise and fall of it).

Sam had also noticed the sluggishness in Dean's gaze and the way his hold on the steering wheel seemed a bit more tight-knuckled than usually.

Could be the rain… or the residual shock of thinking your brother had died.

"You should get some more rest."

There it was again.

That slight catch in Dean's voice.

Like he was afraid that if he spoke too loudly, the magical moment would be broken and Sam would slump in the passenger seat like a doll with its strings cut off, eyes shutting and skin rapidly paling.

Like he thought all of this was just some fever-dream, about to end any moment.

Sam would have done something to prove him otherwise, but the truth was that his brain had trouble catching up with everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.

In between the whistling of the wind, the blurry landscape and the intensifying degrees of agony that came with getting shot in the stomach, Sam wasn't entirely sure if any of this was real either.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him again.

Maybe he was dead and this was heaven; just him and Dean, driving down the road in the Impala.

"How far's it to the bunker?"

And okay, maybe his inability to string together basic sentences was a reason for concern, but Sam didn't think it justified the level of concern in Dean's eyes when their gazes met in a clash of colors.

"Not for another couple of hours," Dean said with another one of those assertive sideways glances, like he was subtly checking Sam for more invisible injuries- anything the doctor could have missed.

It was such a Dean thing to do that it made Sam smile.

"The rain…"

"It's fine," Dean tried to shrug it off. "Baby's had worse."

Dean was right.

They'd driven the car around in far worse weather than that.

A bit of rain wasn't their biggest problem at the moment, but Dean had been strangled by Corbin before Sam had shot him and god knows what other injuries his older brother had sustained during that hunt that Sam didn't know of yet.

Most of them were of the invisible type.

Scars that didn't show on skin, but they were still there- irreversible and just as damaging as real wounds. Maybe even more so…

Dean wasn't in any condition to drive, and he sure as hell wasn't going to last another couple of hours on the road, especially not if the sharp crack of lightning in the darkened skies ahead of them was any indication of what the weather had in store for them.

And wasn't that just another case of the infamous Winchester luck?

Driving straight into a blizzard after a hunt that had left them both half dead?

Sometimes Sam thought that their lives were like one giant, horrible joke.

As if on cue, the droplets of water began growing larger and falling more frequently.

The steady 'pitter patter' of before turned into thick, wet thuds as the icy water raced down the car's windows.

The sprinkling soon turned into a torrential downpour and coldness seeped in through the tiny cracks around the Impala's window frames, seeping through Sam's plaid shirt and the layers of thick gauze wrapped around his stomach.

The sound of thunder rolled through the air a bright lightning bolt split the air.

 _One Mississippi… two Mississippi…three—_

Another crack of thunder and Sam winced as another bright jolt of electricity brightened the skies.

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened even further as the car wavered, crossing over into the other lane for a second.

" _Dean_ ," Sam said in a warning into his tone.

"Still afraid of thunderstorms? Want me to hold your hand there, Sammy?"

The joke was half-hearted and lame but Sam gave Dean a small smile for his efforts.

"We should probably stop. Wait 'til the worst of it blows over."

"Stop where?" Dean reasoned, visibly tensing at the thought of having to stop the car. "We're in the middle of fucking nowhere and we've just passed by the last motel a couple of miles ago."

"You're exhausted, man. Maybe I should—"

"I swear to god Sam, if you suggest to take over, I'm gonna start throwing punches."

"But—"

"You've been shot, alright?" Dean shot back, his voice rising in anger. "It's a goddamn miracle that you're even still _alive,_ Sam _._ "

And there it was.

The source of all that tension.

The reason why Dean couldn't stop sending Sam worried looks, even if it meant he spent more time watching his brother than the fucking road ahead of them.

Because Dean had thought Sam was dead; because they had nearly lost each other again and no amount of rain- no matter how hard Dean gripped that steering wheel or how hard he floored the gas pedal was going to take his mind off of the way Sam had looked lying on that cabin floor.

Still as a corpse with his head angled oddly to the side, not breathing.

"I might not be at the top of my game, sure, but would you please just quit it with the Rambo attitude and get some rest, dude? You're dead on your feet and you know it."

Sam sighed and rested his head against the fogged-up window on the passenger side, drawing random patterns into the condensed glass with his finger.

Now that the adrenaline had left his body and the dulling effects of the painkillers had subsided, he became more aware of the searing ache in his guts and the pulsating ache in his throat- of the way his airways were still swollen from where Corbin's fingers had dug into the sensitive skin, cutting off his air supply.

He was drugged up to the gills, not due for another round of those happy pills for at least another hour or two and he could already tell that soon the pain was going to rise up to excruciating levels.

Soon, the shit that had gone down in those woods would catch up with both of them, emotionally and physically.

They were both in for a long night, nursing each other back to health with military first aid and cheap liquor; reassuring each other that they were both just fine, that they had made it through another hunt gone terribly wrong.

And no matter how much Sam wanted to know the truth, no matter how much they both needed to talk about what happened and get some god-honest rest, Sam also couldn't deny how good it felt to speed down the road and leave those woods in the rearview mirror.

The urge to get away and distance themselves- at least physically- from what had happened, was stronger than his urge to argue with Dean, so Sam relented.

"You sure you're—"

"I'm fine," Dean brushed him off with a final eye roll like it was stupid of Sam to ask when it was so obvious that Dean was barely keeping it together. "Just… try to get some rest, alright?"

There was a pleading quality to Dean's voice and Sam wasn't sure if Dean really wanted for him to get some sleep because he knew how much Sam needed it or because he couldn't bear to talk about what happened.

Sam decided that it was probably a mix of both and gave Dean one last, lingering look before he curled up against the window and bunched up his jacket as a makeshift pillow.

He let the sound of the thunderstorm lull him to sleep and then- just as he was about to get dragged under into blissful sleep, he heard a soft rustle of clothes and felt a sudden warmth envelope his back.

It was Dean's jacket, tucked up around him to block out the cold and Sam had just enough time to take in the faint smell of rock salt and firewood before he dozed off.

* * *

Getting out of the car into the freezing rain and dragging himself into the bunker was a blur.

Sam was only vaguely aware of Dean's body pressed up against him, warm and reassuring and blocking most of the wind and cold, as they made the torturous slow descent down the bunker's staircase and into the mapping room.

"Hey," Dean had kept up a string of reassurances as Sam, barely with it now that the pain and the exhaustion had taken a complete hold of Sam's body. "Hey, look at me, c'mon."

"Hey, look at me, c'mon."

Sam was swaying on his feet, hair drenched as it hung lifelessly into his eyes.

He tried his best to focus on the sound of Dean's voice, both his arms curled around his stomach as jolts of hot, flaring agony pulsated in the center of his gut and sent shivers down his spine.

"Give me a number," Dean urged, brushing Sam's soggy strands from his forehead and peering into Sam's glassy eyes.

It was an unspoken rule between them not to ever lie when it came to the scale, so Sam sniffed and leaned heavily against the mapping table with a shuddered exhale.

"Eight."

"Shit," Dean cursed and tucked up his own jacket around Sam's wide shoulders.

They knew better than to fuck around with severe injuries and for Sam to admit that the pain he currently felt was above a 'five' or a 'six' was already saying a lot about how much pain he was in.

The highest any of them had ever felt ready to admit was ' _nine'_ and that was when Sam's foot had gotten caught in a bear trap during a Rugaru hunt.

"You stay right here, okay? Don't try to move."

"Where—"

"I'll be right back," Dean assured and gave Sam's neck a brief squeeze before he took off.

Sam stared after Dean with a growing sense of discomfort as his brother jogged down the hallway and out of his sight.

It probably wasn't normal to be this clingy at Sam's age, but he couldn't help it.

Whenever he was hurting or injured, Dean's presence was pretty much the only thing that could make him feel better.

His brother always knew what Sam needed, knew when to make jokes to keep Sam distracted, knew how much pressure to apply, what to say or where to touch to take the pain away.

So with Dean suddenly gone, Sam shuddered and sagged, his drenched clothes hanging off of his frozen body and rain dripping from his chin and rolling down his neck.

Slowly, Sam guided his aching body down into one of the vacant chairs that were lined up around the mapping table and then winced when another jolt of blinding pain tore through his stomach.

He let out a surprised gasp at the stars that sparked up behind his eyelids, one arm shooting out to curl protectively around his middle as he bowed over, trying to breathe through the pain.

"Hey, hey, hey…what did I tell you?" Dean was suddenly back again, sounding angry and alarmed and Sam blinked tears of agony from his eyes as Dean's face swam back into focus, hovering over him. "Jesus, Sam, take it easy. I told you not to move around, damn it."

"S'rry…" Sam slurred.

"Shut up," Dean gently chided, with no real heat in his voice and it wasn't until the worst of the pain subsided, that Sam noticed the stack of towels in Dean's hand.

He dropped them unceremoniously on the table and then crouched down before Sam to pull down the zipper of Sam's jacket.

"Let's get you out of these clothes before you turn into a Sam-cicle. C'mon, lift your arms for me."

Under different circumstances, Sam would have never let Dean talk to him like this, but with a pounding headache and the searing pain in his guts, he needed to focus whatever little energy he still had on the task of undressing.

"Alright, that's it," Dean gently praised when Sam eased his arms up just far enough for Dean to untangle the drenched fabric from them. He dropped the soaked jacket to the ground and proceeded to take off Sam's plaid shirt as well, ignoring the obvious blood stains that had saturated the fabric.

Dean yanked it off of Sam's body with a little more force than necessary and then tossed it to the ground like he took personal offense in the shirt's mere existence.

Sam hissed a bit at the rough treatment and Dean's touch instantly softened. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Sam muttered and shivered even harder, now that he was sitting there in nothing but his black V-neck and jeans, fully exposed to the crisp air of the bunker.

Dean started ruffling Sam's soggy hair with one of the towels, dealing with the worst damage mother nature had unleashed on them and Sam swatted his hands away.

"Dude," Sam warned and fumbled with the towel himself, always having been a bit touchy when it came to his hair. "I can do it myself."

"Suit yourself," Dean snorted and started wrapping another, larger towel around Sam's shoulders, instead. "Not like I'd want to mess with your girly hair, Rapunzel."

Sam huffed out a breath, clearly annoyed and Dean ignored him as he shoved a bottle of water into Sam's face and handed him a handful of pills. "Take these."

"What are they?" Sam always felt the need to ask.

There as something about drugs- something about losing control of his mind and body- that he was never going to get fully over and Dean knew better than to keep this kind of shit from him.

"Oxy."

"What?" Sam knew that oxycodone were some of the strongest opioids on the market.

They never actually used those because you couldn't get them without a prescription.

"Doc gave them to me before we left. They should knock you right out."

Sam frowned down at the pills in his hand, an uneasy feeling coiling in his guts.

Dean sighed and curled his fingers around Sam's, gently closing Sam's hand around the medicine.

"Cut yourself some slack, man, c'mon," Dean said quietly. "You and I both know you're not going to get any real rest before you take those."

 _It's okay to let your guard down._

 _I've got your back, brother._

Sam closed his eyes in resignation and swallowed the pills dry before chasing them down with a sip of water.

"Alright," Dean patted his knee and got back up with a wince. "Let's get you into bed."

"Your ribs—"

"I'm fine. Doctor did a good job wrapping them," Dean dismissed Sam's worry for him like it wasn't important, like Dean wasn't just as exhausted as Sam was.

"Think you can stand?" he asked and Sam decided to forgo an answer by pushing himself up from his seat with a pained grunt and a staggering step forward.

"Woah, take it easy," Dean was there in an instant, catching him, snaking a steadying arm around Sam.

They made their way down the hallway to Sam's room and Dean gently lowered him to the bed.

Sam was already feeling the effects of the pills and it hadn't even been ten minutes.

His head landed on his pillow with a heavy thud and he didn't even bother to take his jeans or shoes off before snuggling into the cushions with a heavy sigh of exhaustion.

"You need anything else? Water? Grub? A foot massage?"

Sam snorted, his eyes already slipping closed and silently vowed to himself to smack Dean up the head for his smug attitude once he was less exhausted.

"Don't leave?"

The words tumbled from Sam's lips before he could bite them back.

"I mean not the room… just, you know—"

Sam wasn't sure what he meant, himself.

He only knew that there were things Dean wasn't telling him.

Terrible things about what had happened and there was this nagging little voice in Sam's mind that kept screaming that Dean had done something incredibly stupid when he thought Sam was dead.

But Dean wasn't ready to talk about it and Sam wasn't in any condition to start an argument.

And all he knew was that he needed for Dean to be close.

Dean had already been on his way out when Sam had started talking, coming to hover in the doorway with his head turned only partially, just enough to give Sam a glimpse of the conflicting emotion on his older brother's face.

There was fear, there.

An unspoken terror that sat a bit too close to home for both of them.

But there was relief too, so plain and vivid that it lit up Dean's eyes and entire face.

"I won't leave."

 _I'd follow you anywhere._

 _I'd go to the ends of the earth for you._

And beyond.

 **The END.**

* * *

 _A/N: I know it's not a 100% fill, Scarlett7, but I hope you still liked it! :) Hope the rest of you enjoyed this too! The weather has been pretty gloomy today so the prompt instantly got to me ;) Please let me know if you liked it! Reviews make me happy!_


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